


asmr: Actively Seeking Machiavellism's Redemption

by cereal_whore



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Toph Beifong and Zuko are Siblings, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, azula at age 11: raging violent thoughts of caving zuko's cranium in with the rock from their garden, azula hates fish more than she hates zuko., but azula is the OG violent little sister., i lowkey think teenage azula has anti-social personality disorder but like who knows! not me, this is essentially a battle between zuko's pride and his tolerance when it comes to azula., zuko's awkwardness gives even himself second-hand embarrassment.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:53:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal_whore/pseuds/cereal_whore
Summary: When Zuko's midlife crisis is just his life replayed for a second time, it tests not just his patience, but also whether it's truly Azula that's the murderous sibling out of the two. Because Zuko might be a mentally matured sixteen-year-old with his own handful of daddy issues, but he isthisclose to throwing hands at his eleven-year-old baby sister out in their courtyard.Or: upon being hit by Azula's lightning in the last battle, Zuko finds himself back in time to when his father just branded half of his face.He also finds himself facing his younger sister, eleven andnota murderer, and through his own mixture of overwhelming pity and resentment for her, realizes he could possibly save not just all the people she killed- but herself as well.In other words: Zuko wants to make things right for Azula (who was never given a chance by anyone), so he essentially drags her along with him on his life-changing field trip as a tired nanny.
Relationships: Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Azula (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), azula/causing the pain (avatar), zuko/pain (avatar)
Comments: 200
Kudos: 1036
Collections: A:tla, AtLA <25k fics to read





	asmr: Actively Seeking Machiavellism's Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> trying out a new writing style which is less stupid/funny as my usual style and more like. 
> 
> normal.
> 
> LMAO.
> 
> anyways zuko sounds angsty-woke but i'm fake-woke so like dw it works out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> azula's going to fucking throw hands at zuko.
> 
> \- lieutenant jee exists  
> \- uncle iroh barely mentioned but he'll vibe harder in later chapters  
> \- same with the rest of zuko and azula's crew  
> \- man idk i wrote this with a 100 degrees fever LMAO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my usual writing: batshit wack.
> 
> this writing: hamlet in comparison bc my standards are low.

It’s an advantage.

The way that Azula’s slipping, the way that her lightning crackles and branches without conscious direction, the electric air around her lashing into its own hurricane- and Zuko wonders how come he always saw her as perfect, when she’s barely holding on. The live wire of power is failing her in the end as well, slipping into her surroundings as she loses control of even herself.

And he knows she’s gone, just by the way that she recognises him and yet still wants to kill him (and she always wanted to, always wanted to kill him but it feels _different_ , feels resentful rather than disgusted and she wants something more than just his death-) and this has to be an advantage. 

To hold onto her weakness and never let go. Almost hysterically, he thinks: _a chance to pull an Azula._

(He overestimates her instability.

Clearly, she has enough left in her to strategise.)

He barely hears her snark, only sees the sudden aversion of her trajectory, the way her fingers point behind him and he _jumps_ -

He doesn’t know if it’s really the pain or the blinding light that comes first, but Zuko can easily confirm that both _sucks_ and this majorly _sucks_ and he has faith in Katara’s abilities but he has faith in Azula’s, as well. 

Goddammit.

He has to get up. Azula. She’ll _kill_ Katara, she actually will and- (he chokes, pain caving in his chest cavity like a mudhole, his lungs frazzled and nerves overstimulated and he’s going to _die_ here). 

_Agni,_ please _, give me a second chance_ because Katara certainly won’t get one without him. _Agni, I know I’m kind of a crappy person with an equally questionable moral compass and I’m defintely an asshole and_ yeah _maybe my bloodline_ might've _killed a bunch of your favourite animals,_ _but I swear, I changed, I went through this life-changing fieldtrip- I mean kind of involuntary- but it_ worked _and I know I kinda been a shitty nephew and son and brother and- okay, you know what, just please do something I know I’m not the worthiest to ask but this is for the sake of the world,_ please-

He continues praying even as the blurriness of the scenario bleeds his vision, and darkness eats through the screams in the background.

* * *

Zuko sits up.

He’s been sleeping.

He’s in bed.

He blinks, his vision smeared and impotent, and maybe that’s the lasting effects of his previous injury. 

He’s in a Fire Nation room. Empty and impersonal, the rumpled silky bedsheet inferring to him he’s in a room made for royalty. It almost reminds him of his childhood bedroom. They won. They must’ve. And they just placed him in a random bedroom of the royal house to rest after he basically got K.O’d by his sister. _His sister._

And he would think about Azula and her condition right now, but his muscles feel like seaweed and out of his 100 billion brain cells, he exclusively chooses to not use a single one of them.

He sighs, and as his adrenaline leaks away, so does the potency of the pain. He collapses back onto his back, and groans loudly as his eye twitches abnormally. He frowns. He can breathe freely. He can groan and sound like someone straight up milked his lungs like a swamp goat. Katara must’ve healed him. _But his eye hurts like a bitch_. Perhaps some mental stress reflex? Sputtering slightly, at the way the pain sharpens, he leans back onto his elbows, only to pause mid-movement when he hears the door slam open.

“Hey Katar-” He coughs, clamping down on his tongue as he stares at the intruder.

“Huh?” Azula, says.

_Young_ Azula, demands, hands propping on her hip.

She’s _short._

He stares.

She stares back.

“What?” She snaps.

He screams.

* * *

“Do you find me _that_ scary?” And she sounds pleased.

“Yes.” He replies bluntly, and she nearly falls off the bed at how hard she snaps her neck over to stare in shock.

* * *

Zuko would like to claim that he's not a screamer. He, Prince Zuko, is not a screamer.

It's just that Azula is literally the ideal sleep paralysis demon of most people, therefore her sudden appearance in the vessel of a child who looks like they could be punted like a rag doll had alarmed him.

Azula looks small.

She _is_ small. 

“Surprised Father didn’t just kill you on court." And it's not difficult to guess why half of his face feels like someone skinned it with a crushed metal can, or why he has absolutely no energy to leave his bed.

“You know what, me too,” he says numbly, taking a second. When she doesn’t instantly reply (and she never missed a beat- not even at this age), he lazily rolls his good eye over. She’s looking at him. And of course she is. Back then, Zuko would’ve vehemently denied the possibility of his father doing something as brutal as that.

He almost feels second-hand embarrassment at how foolish he was. Azula calling his old self stupid was actually quite valid. Wow he hates admitting how wrong he was.

He nearly screams again.

“You screamed so loud. Why? Did you think I was Father?” She snickers. “And who’s _Katar?_ Your girlfriend? What'll I tell Mai, then?"

He distantly ignores her, too submerged in his own swirling existential crisis to really concern himself with a twit two-thirds his height currently stealing at least five-thirds of his _own_ bed. 

He winces, reminding himself of his predicament.

Zuko recalls the throb, the palpitating sensation of snapped nerves and old fear that tends to stir more worries in his mind (because shouldn’t he have been _healed_ , so why does his scar continue to pulsate like it has its own heartbeat-), but it was rhythmic. Driving him slowly mad.

He’s gotten arrogant.

The phantom and molasses pain of a healed scar is at nothing in comparison to _this_.

Azula, who must’ve taken his silence as his usual timidity, continues from where she’s perched at the end of his bed, and Zuko swivels his good eye at her again, her image a distraction from the hot and thrumming pain of his screaming waterline and thinning walls of his flesh. He breathes, and his lungs hitch as his eye greedily reminds him _you just got burned! You just got burned!_

He can’t believe he’s going through this bullshit a _second time_.

He remembers his consistent string of nonsensical words, structured into a poorly constructed prayer that Agni probably would’ve straight up killed him again for blathering. 

Great.

So this is a punishment. 

He stares at eleven-year-old Azula currently kicking off her shoes so that she can jump on the bed. 

Definitely a punishment.

He should’ve just died like Fate clearly planned.

“Zuzu, didn’t you hear me? I said that Father’s really going to kill you- you cowered in front of him, disrespected my lineage and his reputation, _and_ look, now you can’t even _see!”_ She shrieks, and Zuko vaguely recalls this scene. Four years ago? Three? Five? He doesn’t even _know_. And he remembers his distant thoughts of when he wished his father just ended him on stage (but the concept of seeing Aang and the boy’s friends again feels like a soothing balm on such a blistering feeling). “Zuzu!”

(And the fact that even at this age her vocabulary was this extensive and she actually had the brain cells to process words with more than three syllables is rather insulting, given that she still unironically uses ‘Zuko’ even at this time.)

He just remembers how _lonely_ he felt abandoned in his dusty room and broken eye, his senses going haywire as blood continued to flush his good ear with paranoia each time he heard footsteps come _close_ , contemplating if his Father thought he rested enough and it’s finally time to deliver the final blow (because even then, Zuko was aware that he wasn’t close to being finished, that the burning of his eye was simply a lesson rather than the punishment-).

Azula was the only person who visited those couple weeks past Uncle Iroh. Not hard to remember his only two visitors.

Back then, he only hated her presence. The reminder of the gap between them, and she _knew_ it. She flaunted herself in front of him, knowing he sees the comparison between them. 

Now, he finds himself shriveled underneath his bedsheets, the silk dampened from his feverish sweat, his good eye still staring out of a film of dusty yellow, Azula appearing like a flickering projection against his closed eyelids.

She’s so young.

Back then, he thought she was scary.

Now, she’s childish. Irritating. Provoking him for a response, something she fed on and he feels like right now he should feel angry just like the way he did back then (but he only felt frustration out of his own helplessness, incompetence and inability to rebuke with _anything_ because he _knew_ Azula was better-), but-

The sadness vortexing a spiral in his gut, hollow despite drowning a semblance of home in the bottom of himself (and the thin yet omniscient and concentrated emotion of melancholy felt like _home_ , like family-), is a rather good replica of the loneliness that resonated within him when he was thirteen.

She’s doing this for attention. To her, good or bad attention are the same, and he figures it’s because she’s never actually experienced enough of the former to actually realize there’s a difference between the two. 

Not for the first time, he feels bad for her.

“Hey, Azula,” he rasps.

She stares, and back then he would’ve never noticed it- Azula was perfect. Her collected image was immaculate out of practice and a scary dose of innate talent.

Yet, the sudden composure is a giveaway itself- an instinctive reflex taught through experience and emotion, the way she appears suddenly calm gives away she was startled by his choice of response.

 _Like Momo_ , he thinks feverishly. He suddenly wants to pet her. 

“Father says he’s going to banish you, but I bet he’ll just have someone kill you the moment you leave.” And though Zuko can’t quite explain it, she sounds exactly like Momo too. Both in the context of her words and in the tone of her voice. “Father says if you’re too scared to fight for your life, then you should just die.”

Katara would never say these words. No matter how enraged she was by Sokka. (Then again, she'd totally say that to Zuko, so maybe Zuko is the common denominator as to why they say these things.)

And Zuko sometimes looks at Katara, as if he'd just _understand_ her and Sokka's relationship if he simply stares at her long enough (and if he looks at her for too long, he begins to draw parallels between Katara and Azula and that’s when he looks away).

“He probably wants to,” he admits, laughing slightly, despite the way his eye burns at the way his eyes reflexively flinch.

Azula falls quiet. “What’s up with _you?”_

And back then, Zuko would’ve thrashed, would’ve probably been mad and bitter and boiling over at Azula by now. Even within his three years of sailing, he'd still have the same attitude. Strange how things can change in just a year.

"What's up with me? I don't know." He admits. He doesn't know _what_ to think. When he woke up, he thought it was a nightmare. A revisit down his childhood in his locked conscious, submerged into his own turbulent emotions that he thought he had beaten down long ago. That even if the pain felt vividly unnatural, the way every stimuli was accounted for even the ones that go unaware in real life, the way that it seemed too sterile and _real_ for this to be a dream-

After the first day of laying in bed, falling asleep, and waking up periodically despite the fatigue that serves to numb him from the pain-

He realised this was real life. That he was young Zuko, bedridden with a fresh scar, and an equally fresh sister.

He hated this, he already went through all of this, he already lost and caused so much pain but he selfishly wouldn't trade any of that if it meant he could stay with Aang and his friends (and there’s no way in this time before _everything that happened_ would Katara or Sokka accept him if he ever ran into them, even _without_ hunting them down for a year), and now he lost everything. He was nothing in the beginning anyways, yet, being reversed back to this state made him feel as if he lost even more than what he started with. _(And hadn’t he given enough?_ Sure he had absolutely nothing of worth to give in the first place but these three- four? Who knows how many years took everything from him and compensated it all in the very last minute _and he still lost all that._ Hasn’t he given _enough_ (and he wants to _cry)._ He barely made it through the first time, he doesn’t think he can do it a second time, can’t do it a second time where Sokka and Katara vehemently hate his guts, where Suki won’t address him by his name or look him in the eye because he’s not _worthy_ , where To- _)_

He can't do it a second time. He always staggers back onto his feet for another fight, screaming hoarsely he can take it, when deep down he knows if he gets pushed down one last time he wouldn't be able to get back up.

He had _everything._ His Uncle, Toph, Aang, Sokka, Katara, Momo and Appa- 

They were the _only_ things he really _had_ , the only things he didn’t deserve but _earned_ after everything.

Now he has nothing.

At least he thought that until he saw Azula.

Sure when he first saw her that basically cemented the awfulness of this situation, and gave him half the mind to automatically jump off the third floor balcony because fuck this.

Until he thought about it some more.

Older Azula’s condition seems irreversible. He’s still holding out for her, but there’s something about her state, the way she degraded each day to the point where she’s essentially a serial killer (and she’s a _kid_ and she’s only a bit older than _Aang-)_ , that leaves him sure the moment she swung lightning at him, that she was unwilling and perhaps unable to allow others to love her.

And he can always earn the others back. Try and befriend Aang and the others through effort and genuinity. 

Azula however, had a limited opportunity, and he missed her the first time. 

Azula seems so lively right now. Definitely questionably immoral, that’s just a seed planted in her character but. 

She has a _chance_ . Has a way better chance of being happy than she would have four years in the future. _Then_ there’s the fact she’s never actually killed anyone yet- therefore he doesn’t have to hold her morally accountable in this timeline for being a literal murderer, or a person who has swamped villages in flames and indirectly sentenced people to their deaths.

Great, that ethical dilemma is completely avoided. 

He smiles.

“What the hell are you doing? Stop it. You look creepy,” Azula shudders theatrically, louring.

This time he does snort. “Nothing. Just happy to see you,” he admits flippantly, his time with Aang loosening his terrifying grip on his emotions, and he stiffens as he thinks about his words, matching the way she suddenly jumps up, eyes flashing and unadulterated disgust creasing her young visage. 

“You should feel blessed _anyone_ would want to see you,” she snips, animosity and annoyance curdling her tone. “Don’t talk as if you think I care about how you feel. Know your place,” she spits, pride contorting her features.

Like a child throwing a tantrum. And he feels something akin to pity, rather than the typical annoyance one might have for a young child with such a self-esteem (though, Azula, he feels with terrified admiration and unjust, had power to back up her mouth. Peoples’ irritation never fails to slip into something like fear). 

“You’re going to disappear. Just like Mom,” she spits, and he knows her long enough to recognise the hunger for control, to regain balance in their dynamic by shoving him back down. 

And he always wanted to have the upper-hand, always wanted Azula to eat shit.

Yet, though this is remarkably less dramatic than when Katara defeated her in that fight and she completely lost it, the lack of satisfaction is the same. Just an echo of nothingness, one he never knew how to feel about it.

“I know.”

“I. You’ll never come back home, you know.” She sneers.

“Probably better for me,” he admits unabashedly. 

“Father will have you for treason for saying those words,” and _oh_ , this is- and he peers at her discreetly once more, and she’s glaring at him intensely. And he always thought the disparity between them had no bridges- that hereditary only amounted to the differences between them rather than similarities but-

He identifies the flaring rage and slip of emotions within her easily, the turbulent temper a personal friend of his. 

And Azula always seemed so structured, with too many backups and defenses to guarantee that nothing can understand her, can surpass her walls can break her (and he learned too late that it was false, that she was worn down to the point where just a single thing would automatically knock her down and scatter her into remnants of a human being-), but he’s now able to see that she’s just like him. Lashing out, pushing for a response, and she always acted like she was independent, that there wasn’t a use for others but- 

Oh.

She clearly needs others, relies on their anger and humiliation to bury her insecurities until they’re too far gone for her to even be aware of them.

He wonders if this was how Uncle saw him. Someone with a one-track mind, who strives for a solution that would ultimately fail them because they couldn't see another way to do things.

_But if he did see this in me, why didn’t he see this in Azula?_

And they're more alike than he'd once believe. Old Zuko would probably laugh self-deprecatingly if he heard someone claim they were alike, much less himself, the one person who should _know_ what the contrast between them entails. But really, looking at her right now, _aren't we just different sides of the same coin?_

“‘Zula. The only reason why I wouldn’t want to be sent away is because I think I’d miss you.” He confesses. He abandoned her to their father for three years. And he might’ve always been good to her, treated her like the real heir while he was ditched on a suicidal mission, but the way that she turned out in comparison to him-

And it’s really just _sad_. Not like he’d ever pity Azula- she’d hate that even though she drastically deserved it. She definitely was unhinged, cruel and easy to hate. She separated families, killed people, ruled everyone through fear and she needs to be held responsible for those actions but-

She already has enough people hating her. And she deserves their hate.

At least someone like him, who’s haunted by the regret of things he’s done, who’s the only one who can understand her to the extent she could with him, to pity her. If he doesn’t, then no one will. 

And besides. That’s Azula in the future.

Not now.

Right now, the only victim of her cruelty was simply him, making it within his right to forgive her.

“Who wouldn’t miss me?” She leers, and she’s no longer acting like she finds this funny, and is staring at him cautiously. Azula. At _him_. Wary. But isn’t it understandable? No one was nice to them for who they were- there’s no reason for her to believe her brother, someone she bullied as they grew up, would be either. 

“I would. I would really miss you,” and he chokes, and he’s almost horrified by the sudden clip in his words, the way that a mixture of relief (he gets to see her _one last time at least_ ) and strangled sadness shatters his indifference. And now even she’s appearing mortified, less embarrassed than he feels but certainly infinitely more disturbed (and when was the last time she’s ever heard anyone say they’d miss her?), but he presses, “you probably think I’m saying this out of jealousy, but really, I don’t. I don’t feel jealous that Father favours you more, because he doesn’t love you, he doesn’t love anyone-” and he breathes, hurt rattling his throat and clogging it with sudden trepidation and fear at admitting it out loud (and how awful it must be, he thinks with detached sympathy, that you can’t feel love-), “and you know he’s the type of person to believe love is for the weak. He’s just using you.”

And even now, an inkling of him wishes his father would just look his way (because who else could he turn to for love? At least he now has others, but Azula has no one-). 

Azula stills, glowering at him, too young to have perfected her mask of apathy (and _wow._ He genuinely believed she was emotionless, untouched and unbothered up until she broke and cut him with glass fragments that reflected everyones’ expectations of her, that created her smirk and her glare-). “Stupid Zuzu. You think you’re smart for finally realising that? I know he doesn’t love me. But that just _proves_ he finds me useful,” she says coldly. “That just proves I’m _worth_ something, unlike _you.”_

And if she came to that realisation when she was young, realised she was worth something based only on her abilities and nothing else, no wonder she’s so warped. She had no reason to believe she was inherently lovable, so of course she’d just heavily depend on the reassuring thought that at least she was _useful._

She was left alone with that realisation since she was young. With an absent mother and brother who never noticed. 

Zuko doesn't even know if he feels pity anymore.

He just feels tired.

He glances at Azula, and a dark part of him wishes she would just stop existing. It'd be easier for him, better for her, better for everyone. 

In turn, he wouldn't mind disappearing alongside with her.

He swallows.

“But you won’t be happy.”

“I’ll make my own happiness.” 

“Azula.” And he can’t leave. He’s so close to banishment. Though the weeks melded together while he was locked in bed, shackled by pain and misery, he can tell it’s getting close to the day his Father tosses him out and Azula’s going to grow up the same way she did before, and he’s going to fail her a second time and it’s not even about him it’s about _her_ (she’s going to end up like _that_ a second time and)-

He stutters out another exhale. “Azula. You won’t be happy. I’m sorry I never said this to you but I love you, I really do-” and he’s never heard those words past his mom. He’s heard them from Uncle Iroh, though.

Azula probably never heard that from anyone. 

This proclamation sounds awkward and disgruntled rolling around in his mouth, and this isn't time to feel embarrassed. He's never said those words before. 

“Shut _up_ . Love is for losers. This is why you’re weak, why you couldn’t stand up against Father, why-” her voice pitches louder, her insouciance cracking at his audacity for saying those words, “you’re just saying this because you're pathetic! Yo- _you_ just need a reason to excuse your own behaviour don’t start making this about _me-”_

But he remembers how colder, how malevolent she grew, witnessing how he and his mother loved each other, how she loved him enough to sacrifice herself for him, and he knows that instinctively, she was jealous of that. Of an emotion she felt she could only ever be a bystander of, reading in plays and witnessing in a world behind a glass panel she cannot touch.

He doesn’t bring that up. Mentioning she was envious of someone she looks down upon, she would hate that. Would shut him down.

It looks like they really do have more similarities than differences in the end. 

“Love is strong enough for you to do things even like sacrificing yourself for others,” her voice is calmer, retaining its cutting edge from how she relaxes into the idea that she’s inherently right. And he knows she’s thinking about Mom. “So. Love makes you do stupid and unreasonable things.” She concludes, sounding not at all out of breath.

“Maybe,” he smiles. “But isn’t feelings why we do anything? Azula. You’re my favourite.” And he did hate her for a while. A long while. 

He thinks it’s really just him unfairly reflecting his most internal feelings he was too scared to acknowledge onto her. 

“Don’t say these things like you have the right to,” she says coldly, eyes wide and vibrating pinpricks of honey in a sea of milky white, looking too much like the Azula he knows in the future than the one right in front of him. “You’re nothing in comparison to me, don’t think you mean anything to me when you say words like that. What? You learned that from Mommy? Learned nothing more than words with no bite, nothing useful?”

“Yeah, okay.” He sighs, not expecting her to believe him anyways. “And what did you learn? All you learned was that you can’t trust people, that it’s better to rule people with fear. But you never learned that people are more like me, than you. Weak. We’re weak for people. Meaning people won’t follow you. You might call them weak, but really, isn’t it strong that people choose to do what they love rather than to listen to fear?”

“What are you going on about? What is this? Philosophy class?”

He hums. “Maybe.” And he turns to her, who’s pointedly glowering back. “Class dismissed.”

She stares a bit longer.

“Hey, who are _you_ to dismiss class, _huh_ -”

* * *

Zuzu is strange.

He always was weird.

But he got weirder.

Maybe it’s because after Father burnt him, it broiled his brains. Like turtleduck eggs.

It’d make sense why his mind seems more cracked up.

She doesn’t like it. Hates it. Suddenly, he lacks even _more_ self-awareness, becoming more oblivious to how he acts, unaware that he should feel humiliated, rightfully feel embarrassed for his cowardice, for failing in front of so many people, for grovelling, for being disfigured and branded as a traitor-

She peers at him from the doorframe.

A coward. 

Yet he sounded less fearful the more he speaks these days, more confident, and more _tired_. 

Less angry about the fact that half of his face looks like moose jerky, and more concerned about talking with _her_. 

He used to go out of his way to avoid her, which intensified the hunt, the game that she _knew_ she would win (and yet that expected ending never got boring, since she had control to intensify it, always felt increasing suspense at knowing what’ll happen. And this was meant to be a new addition: the fact that he was bedridden. Couldn’t run. Had to sit in bed and wait, subjected to whatever he’s given and _had_ to take it. She wanted to watch, see the trepidation seep into his bones, the fear warping his perception). 

Now he _beams_ whenever she appears.

Everytime this happens, she has a painfully numbing urge to find a very large rock from outside. What’s another scar on his already disgusting face?

Even stranger, was how somehow, the previous annoyance and anger at his blasphemous attitude faded, and she’s even starting to think this is somewhat more interesting than her usual game of cat and mouse with him.

She runs into the room, and leaps onto the bed, bounding onto it, disregarding how his head knocks against the board and rattles his eye. She smirks at that. 

“Zuzu!”

“Hey.”

She’s almost getting used to the way he greets her.

No one’s ever greeted her this way. Not even Father, and definitely not mother. He’s so _casual_ . Not in his ‘forced’ way he did beforehand, making him sound like a stiff loser, now he just sounds _normal._ Normal to _her._ Ty Lee and Mai react similarly, but they’re background characters. Extras.

Zuko has the same value, if not less, but she sees him every day.

He smiles. He never smiles anymore. She doesn't even remember when he ever smiled, especially at her.

Right then and there, eleven-year-old Azula begins to calculate a plan to knock out her brother's teeth with a rock from their garden. 

"What have you been doing?" Zuko continues, wholly unaware of Azula's convoluted pulley system she's mentally engineering to lift up the boulder in their turtleduck pond and have it smash through her brother's window. "You doing well?" And he smiles again. 

Her rationalisation falters, unsure how to interpret that. She doesn’t like it. But she doesn’t know how she feels about not hating it. It doesn’t feel mocking, a reflection of her own, of everyone around her, but the candidness almost seems unreal. 

She sniffs. 

As if Zuzu was smart enough to deceive her.

As if he was strong enough- he was always soft.

She liked it. Like seeing his bumbling confusion, his childish and temper that she knew would never lead to disastrous consequences for anyone but himself. He wasn’t firm- he was raw, half-baked, unlike Father or Mother (and she knew better than childish Zuko to believe Mother was kind. Mother was a liar; stale and remorseless from the pressurizing heat).

He would never retaliate, never bite back hard enough for it to hurt. She was too strong, and he was too weak for that. 

He was like a toy.

“You’re being banished in a week,” she smarms haughtily, and glances at him, and is no longer surprised by his uncharacteristic calmness over so. “Our fat uncle is going with you, seems like someone finally wants you.” She hates Uncle, too. He looks down on her, just like Mother did. Nice people were never _really_ nice. They only like nice people back.

“I like Uncle Iroh.”

“You only recently hung out with him. You just like him because he cared about saving your eyesight,” she leers, a sudden swooping sense of disturbing jealousy corroding her demeanor, because Uncle Iroh is lame and foolish, he gave up because what? One person died? That’s literally what war is made out of: sacrifices. And _now_ he wants to care because of one person?

Weak. Stupid. And if Azula knew the word 'hypocritical' at this time, she would've tacked it onto his name as well.

Uncle's not nice. Not a good person. He only cares because war became personal. Once she’s old enough to fight, she’ll never make that mistake: war will always be intimate and direct from her. She’ll live for this country but first, it’ll live for her.

Zuzu is right. Weak people are weak for others. No wonder he likes Uncle so quickly. She spits, ignoring how Zuko cringes. It’s no longer out of fear, that was just out of disgust. She hates that.

“Uncle is lazy and shallow,” she determines. “Why do you like him?”

“He’s hard working and he’s actually pretty wise. He also stuck out through so much for me- he’s really forgiving and patient. He sees through a person,” he shifts, struggling to sit up, and she rolls her eyes so hard, that it physically hurts. 

“Yeah. For three weeks.”

He blinks, and of course Zuko can’t keep track of time. “...Right. Three weeks,” he repeats slowly, foolish and stupid as he is. 

She hates Uncle even more, now.

“You know. If you beg Father, I’m sure he’ll do something about your banishment.” _No he wouldn’t_. But it’d be fun to see Zuko look so hopeful, stupidly oblivious to the obvious truth. It’d be even more fun if she delivered the truth years later (and the longer she refrains from the gratification reveal, the more satisfying it’ll be, and the more devastated he’d be). 

“As if. He’d probably give me some incompletable mission. Like finding the Avatar or something,” he snorts, and she scrabbles up the bedsheets, not caring how she knocks aside Zuko’s knees and shoves him farther into the sheets. Closer to Zuko’s face, she inspects him for even the vaguest disappointment. Rather, he just glances at her curiously.

She knots her lips into a scowl.

Boring (and she nearly shivers at the sudden voice in her head that swirls in denial, whispering: _but not really_ ).

“Seems like you finally grew up. If all it took was Father to burn you, how come you never grew smarter whenever I did that?”

“That’s just you being a dick, nothing more to look into.” He replies casually, and her spine clicks, rigid, and she turns to Zuko. Zuko _never_ swears. And definitely not at _her_. 

Her lips twitches upwards.

* * *

And Zuko doesn’t call her out on this, doesn’t tease her even on friendly terms, because he knows she would jet out of bed the moment he does.

Azula has been visiting daily, _hourly_ , when he’s pretty sure from his previous memories, she only peered in every once in a while to taunt him, to watch the way only one of his eyes could well up, glossy and reflecting her sneer while conveying his frustration.

He wasn’t expecting this in any timeline, however.

“I’m sleeping here,” she tells him loftily, pillowing herself beside him in _his_ bed. He scowls. 

“It’ll be too warm,” he grunts, though, vaguely anxious about whether or not she’d scamper if he protested too much. 

He pauses.

And recalls that Azula was a bitch, so she’d definitely stay the more he complained.

“I don’t care about what you feel,” she remarks, unravelling her hair from its bun, and Zuko snorts at the shape it maintains. She glowers back. “What?”

“Nah. Just no wonder you get bedhead.”

“Better bedhead than behead, which is what you’ll get if you keep talking,” she scoffs, burrowing herself underneath his covers. 

Zuko’s always known his temperature ran high- Toph always latched onto him during cold nights, something he found utterly disarming and vaguely terrifying. Aang, an equally terrifying social creature with the emotional perceptiveness of a bent spoon, clings onto him as well no matter what.

But Azula is a furnace.

Mildly, Zuko supposes it’s because she was probably spawned in hell.

“You’re too hot.” He states.

“And you’re too _loud._ I'm a hundred-percent convinced you're doing this on purpose." 

"Yeah? Well I'm a hundred-percent Done™. Get out."

Zuko feels her leg like a heated iron, branding his thigh. “What the _he-ll-”_ his voice cracks, pitching with octaves as he feels her overly warm toes begin to jab into his legs. “Stop it! If you’re going to sleep here then sleep!”

“That’s boring.”

“Then play in your own room!”

And the lights are off so Zuko can’t even properly locate his sister’s face, can’t shove her off the bed (and he wonders how come he feels comfortable around her; back then, he would've been terrified, lied submissively and let her do whatever she wants. And it's not like this Azula is _safe_ , as she leaves artificial disasters in her wake and is the biggest hazard to his mental and physical health- but he supposes something about facing her future-self capable of killing people tends to make this Azula seem tame. This Azula is _nothing_ compared to the Azula he knows). 

“Zuzu, stop _kicking_ -”

“No you-”

And he reflexively flicks a fire into his palm to illuminate his surroundings to he can properly shout at his sister to scram-

When suddenly, the heat crackles louder.

He looks down.

The bedsheet is on fire.

Azula stares at him through the flames, unimpressed.

“Oh shit.” He blurts.

"This is why Dad says your bending sucks."

* * *

“Right.” Iroh didn’t know what to make of this, when he saw the two children splayed out on bed, unbothered and quiet even as the first rays of sunshine filtered through their carved window, highlighting the two childrens’ uncharacteristically peaceful visages.

And Zuko earlier was plagued with nightmares, flustered and twitching in his sleep as his body tried to sew his skin back together around his eye.

On a completely unrelated note, half of their blanket was on fire. 

The sunlight, Agni’s lamp on the peace of the world around him, washes a glow of yellow over the charred blanket cocooning Zuko, a portion of the blanket paperweighted underneath Azula’s body that’s curled at the bottom of his feet.

He doesn't know if he feels mildly concerned or not. 

Zuko recently's been burning through his clothes: during the first week after his father burned him, he’d wake up, body smoking and bedsheets crisp.

This continued for the past two months. This week, he became. Strange. More mature. But still very Zuko. Iroh doesn’t know how to particularly feel about it. It’s rather disconcerting- actually majorly disturbing. It’s abnormal. He’s not Zuko, but he has to be (and Iroh has been considering possession. Misguided children who don’t know better, who would have no sources to draw a new character or personality from, can _not_ simply become someone new overnight. And just days ago, he would desperately mumble for his mom, shudder when he heard Azula’s voice down the hall, and would snarl defensively over his father’s actions whenever Iroh told him it wasn’t his fault. Now he’s _different._ He lets Iroh essentially trashtalk his Father, bickers _playfully_ with Azula, and in essence, has a _completely_ different mindset. And now he stares at Iroh strangely too, looks at him almost fondly and while he _wants_ to see that as Zuko, he knows better. He’s a stranger, and Zuko unconsciously doesn’t trust adults. 

_Has to be_ possession. What happened to _his_ Zuko, the one who desperately needs help? Is he lost in the spirit world, is he alone?).

And now, this Zuko has somehow gotten along with Azula.

At first he thought Azula was discreetly bullying him, doing so when she knew that Iroh wouldn’t be around.

Maybe Zuko wasn’t trying to simply reassure him that it wasn’t that. Maybe he really does enjoy her company. 

“Oh. It’s you.” His eyes flits over to the source of the sneer, and he sees Azula sit upright, stiff and blunt despite the drowsiness of her words. 

“Mm. Azula. Good Morning.”

She scoffs.

“Zuko is still asleep?” He says politely, being sure to act natural, to not tense the atmosphere.

“What about it?” She leers, clambering over to Zuko, and he watches carefully.

Rather than prodding him awake or childishly provoke him, she suddenly stretches, crumpling right next to him. 

“Nothing. You two want to sleep some more?”

“I’m only sleeping late because Zuzu is a baby.” She elaborates, attempting to yank the blackened blankets out from under him, tugging the corner to cover her own body.

He doesn’t know how to interpret this scenario. It’s not _weird_. But the attitude is definitely unusual between them.

“Okay. Get some more rest, then,” he smiles.

She doesn’t look back, too focused on squirming underneath the blankets, right next to Zuko’s body. 

And Zuko always looked fragile. Like the fat has been burned from his body, alongside his confidence and esteem. Childhood created his bones, and lessons cripple his confidence.

He looks at Azula, and she’s just as thin, just as weary and he decides the difference between the two siblings, is that one of them knows how to lie, the other one doesn’t.

* * *

“My blankets are burnt.”

“Yeah, because you’re a lousy firebender.”

“As if you haven’t randomly burned things.” Zuko rolls his eyes, and he sees his sister tense, defensive and dangerously teetering back to her old self- “Look,” he struggles to kick aside the holey blanket, and yanks up his loose pajamas that he’s pretty sure he’s been wearing for a week. “See,” he points accusingly at a faded scar, ugly and a patch of oil painted deserts illustrating his skin.

“It’s not random,” she retorts, miffed. “Besides. Burns tighten your skin. It’s for youth.”

“I.” Jerk. “ _No-”_

* * *

“I’m coming with you.”

Zuko, chokes, water spewing out his mouth and onto his bedsheets.

“Pardon?”

“You’re pardoned.” 

And Azula prances over, leaping onto the bed, perfectly stable on her two feet. And Azula glances, smug, probably inferring his shock as devastation but-

Honestly, Zuko was _losing it._ Ever since realising he was transported back in time, he was having a _struggle_ , realising that there was a major regret (and he had many), Azula being it. He didn’t have a single strategy to disconnect Azula from their Father’s close influence, and was too late into his years when she already solidified her internalised morals and mechanisms, as well as when they’ve grown too far apart, for him to reach her or raise her differently. Treated her differently.

And last night, he was having an absolute _blast_ being too sober at midnight thinking about how he’s going to literally lose his sister again, have her slip through the cracks of this system, and he didn’t have a single idea how to prevent this from happening, _mainly_ because there was no way Azula would _let_ this happen. Would let him influence her, let him get past her reasonings and cross the distance between them that only expanded over the years.

And right now, she’s offering herself to him. Based on her _own_ requests.

“Are you sick?” He blurts out, and mildly, Zuko decides now's the time for Agni to collect his soul. 

“I told Father that you needed a _real_ model, unlike our stupid uncle, to develop true strength. I’ll force you to understand what the real world is like.”

“And he just _let_ you?” Father just _let_ his only competent child run amok? Said child being _eleven?_ Sure, he places a lot more trust on eleven-year-old Azula’s capabilities than even on his sixteen-year-old self, but Ozai is asking for a _lot_ right now, since _both_ of his children have absolutely _zero_ social skills.

Then again, social incompetence seems to run in the family. And, it’s basically proven that his father does not have the best parental skills.

“Kinda. I told him that you thought the Avatar was alive and I made a deal with him to let you come back home if you find them.”

“Oh.” And that makes more sense. “You just wanted Father to think I’m dumber than I already am.”

“Trust me, you can do that just fine on your own, but I wanted a part in it,” she reassures not unkindly. “And I told him I’d crush you if you failed.” 

“So he wants your first kill to be your brother?” He’s now starting to find this more believable.

“Probably.”

“I. _Why?”_ Though, it makes sense that he’d allow Azula to run around. She’s still young right now- Ozai only started utilizing her in war when she turned fourteen. 

She shrugs. “I’m bored.” And he can’t believe she always called him childish.

“And you think living life daily on a _boat_ is any better?”

She shrugs once again. “It’s not like there’s anything fun here. Father won’t let me in on the war plans, and all the teachers are stupid and think they can teach _me_ something. You’re more fun,” she admits, her words cruel and honest. “Besides. I’m curious as to what _you’ll_ do.”

And she probably wants to see if he’ll break. Fair enough. And he’s always struggled to reign in his emotions, never had the intrinsic nack for it the way Azula had, and so he simply glances down at his lap to hide his stifling smile.

She’s coming with him.

There’s a chance.

“You’re going to hate it,” he finally says.

“Can't hate it more than I already hate you,” she shrugs, collapsing onto her back on his bed, the side of her body hot against his own sweltering underneath the sheets.

"Oh. That's fair."

“Anyways. We’re leaving in six days. Father expects you to cry at least once.”

He pauses. “I don’t think I can.” He glances down at her, who inclines an eyebrow. “I mean.” And this time, he’s truly unable to restrain the smile on his face, that only screws even more at the way both of her brows shoot upwards. “I’m not an actor like you.”

He's unable to even dodge the pillow flying straight for his throat.

* * *

“I hate this.” Azula stares at the rickety ship. 

“Of course you would,” says an unfamiliar voice. And Zuko stiffens, glowering over his shoulder. He recalls the first time he was sent away with the crew. They didn’t like him. Scowled behind his back, spat at his name and his honour. Of course, eventually they lead to understand each other better to the point of disgruntled cooperation, but they weren’t _close_ , just finally learned respect for each other.

Then again, Azula never really had a likeable attitude. 

He pauses. Neither did he, really.

“Princess Azula, Prince Zuko-” Iroh begins.

“Not _really_ a prince. He’s a banished traitor, remember,” Azula corrects, and Zuko feels like he should be mad, especially since she clearly strives to hurt, but he can’t help but glance ather almost exasperated endearment. Better this than her try to blow out his brains like a smoothie. 

Not for the first time, Zuko's mildly surprised by how low his standards truly are.

At this, she stares at him, disgusted.

He glances around, and sees the other crew members glance at him, distantly concerned, and at Azula, with definite concern. 

“These are your crew mates.” Iroh gestures towards the mismatched members, all of them looking very different. He recognises Lieutenant Jee. But considering how everything’s been changing, he’s not surprised that a good portion of his crew appears different than before.

Or that the majority of the crew looks like they could easily commit mutiny and second degree murder when he gets too unbearable.

He exhales through his nose.

Reminds him of the good old time.

Though, the fact that this ship isn't a Fire Nation military ship and instead is a normal one that is unfortunately rather flammable and made out of wood, is rather surprising. He supposes Azula used up her good graces by asking Father to board with him- if he recalls correctly, in his previous timeline, she was the one who convinced Father to give him a decent crew and metal ship. 

“Thank you,” he bows slightly, “for offering us with your services,” he greets. There’s no way Father found these crew members. They look like a scattered bunch of commonors, none of them presenting the Fire Lord’s emblem.

Too lost in his thoughts as to what this may be, he barely notes the strangeness of the silence, at first chalking it up to people ignoring him.

He glances upwards, and stills.

“What the heck was that, Zuzu? I knew you’re an embarrassment but _really_ , even if you’re disowned, it’s even more humiliating for you to give up your dignity without a fight,” Azula says brashly, staring at him, startled, but not in the good way that she had been every time he shocked her with his new attitude.

Feeling mildly embarrassed about her attitude in front of the people in question, yet, unable to feel pissed because he was just like her back then, he simply sighs. 

His eyes flit over to Uncle Iroh, who thankfully doesn’t appear displeased, but certainly glancing at him calculatively, unsure. 

Then there’s the crew members who are now staring at him weirdly, even the one who looks like he could peel Zuko’s muscles like string cheese appears less homicidal, and more disturbed.

_Ah._

By the sudden attention, and inability to have forethought, he remains frozen on the deck, a sudden flush of heat that’s unusual as he’s so close to the ocean’s chill, blisters across his skin. His ears feels abnormally warm, and he wonders if it’s partially because of his scorching burn that expands to his lobe, dementing his hearing and the cartilage around it.

He wills himself to stop feeling humiliated, but as he peers upwards, his gaze clasps with one of the crew members closest to him, with a difficult expression and harsh glower, and he finds himself instinctively diverting his gaze, the heat highlighting his face growing even hotter.

This is the worst.

“Zuzu? Are you blushing?” Azula observes loudly.

“No Azula, I’m just having a stroke,” Zuko remarks snippishly, glad for her obvious need to call him at all times. 

However, rather than snarking back or rebuking with an even harder claim, she just scoffs, “when did _you_ start understanding jokes?”

“When I understood I was one,” he replies flatly, and at this, her eyes bulge.

Ah. Aang typically makes those kind of expressions whenever he honestly responds this way. Toph found it amusing though, so he always assumed it was normal.

However, he looks around and sees the previous crewmate he made eye contact with look at him as if his neck threw up, and begins to doubt his own (very limited) social competency.

“So.” Uncle Iroh clears his throat. “Welcome aboard the ship!”

“This ship is ancient,” Azula sniffs. “Uncle, did you use this during your golden age?” She sneers.

And he likes Azula. Genuinely wants to see her get better, wants to compensate for what she never received as a child.

Doesn’t mean he’s going to hear her talk shit about Uncle Iroh.

“Hm. The ship is the size of my will to live,” Zuko says placidly, unaware of the way one of the farther crew members with a hat trips over his own feet at that. “Okay. Let’s get on,” he commands, without bothering to absorb Azula’s look of incredulity creasing her face.

* * *

Azula is a monster.

But not like a _monster_ monster she really became.

Rather, she’s just terrifying. And has no chill (once again, he wonders come his past self was so convinced that they had absolutely nothing alike).

Zuko witnessed in less than an hour, the crew saw her less as a brat, and more of something to be wary of, on top of their initial resentment.

He feels vaguely proud of her abilities, yet, distraught 

They don’t like her.

She thinks she’s fine with that.

He purses his lips.

“Azula-”

“What, Zuzu?” She snaps, acebric and acidic, clearly frustrated by her relationship with the crew members. And he recoils slightly, feeling more like Zuko back then than Zuko _now_ , because she sounds angry and hateful and everything they’ve managed to build these past week or so is going to _crumple_ and she’s going to hate him even more than she did when they started.

His lungs crinkled like sugarcane paper at that realisation, insecurity featuring with each inhale, scorching the back of his throat with hot fear. She’s going to regret this- regret _him,_ and that upsets him more than anything else.

Azula sniffs it out almost automatically (a freaking shirshu, he swears) and he sees her signature smirk, the way her smile cuts against her face like a knife. “Oh? Zuzu-”

“Azula,” and he can’t let her get the first word in, if he does, he won’t be able to win. “They’re good people. They have their own strengths, and peoples’ abilities and worth shouldn’t be determined based on your own standards. People deserve human respect-”

“ _Oh_ people _deserve_ things? For what? For existing? Only the helpless do that, only the people who don’t earn things do that, they take away from people who _truly_ should be praised. If they’re just _born_ weak then why should it be my issue, my problem?” She spits, rage manifesting in her tone, cracking the indifference she carefully sewn tight with the strands of her hair, the last of her nerves. 

Azula was raised knowing she wasn’t treated like _shit_ because she had something to offer. She couldn’t understand the concept of not holding others to her own standards, or that her definition of what’s considered “valuable” or a “strength” isn’t right. 

“Even so, it’s not like you have the right to judge others.” Zuko retaliates. “You can’t always force people to think the way you do, and people always will have their own opinion.” Then, quieter: “even with all the fear in the world, you can’t fully control people.”

Azula screams at this, and he watches as she makes a bonfire of one of the tapestries hanging in the cabin. 

He watches, blue flickering and highlighting her translucent skin, reflecting off of her inky hair, glistening off her teeth stained with spite and acid, revealed behind her rippled lips. “Zu. Zu. You fool. I don’t need you to start lecturing me because of your broken faith and disloyalty. I don’t need to _care_ about whether or not other people hold different opinions, either.” 

Zuko stares. “Wouldn’t it be considered foolish, if you refuse to learn outside of what you know? That you reject every other idea because you don’t like it or it doesn’t conform to yours- it’s narrow-minded,” he wavers, ironing out any stammering with willpower because he frankly doesn’t know how Azula will react. She probably will erupt, insulted Zuko thinks he knows more than her when he’s always been academically inferior, thinking he has the right to talk back when he wouldn’t know any better than her.

She does.

He flinches as she shouts, her voice raw and distorted, and the flames that ate through the tapestry flare up once more, flickering higher than the remaints of the cloth. And he’s almost concerned about whether or not the ship will catch on fire at this rate- but the flames disintegrate the last of the material and finally dies out on its own, sinking them into darkness of the evening.

“Zuko. Get out.”

“Azu-”

“Get. Out.”

He leaves.

* * *

“So. Zuko.” 

And Zuko knows the chef is purposefully dismissing his title, calling him so informally to get a rise out of him. They might like him better than Azula based on personality, but there’s a certain disdain for him, who's a traitor to their nation.

After all, he’s dishonourable. A coward.

 _Sokka wouldn’t be happy to hear you say that_.

He feels like a wuss, thinking back to his childhood self. Scared of the truth of his father (the truth of Azula), denying it and hurting others, lashing out to preserve his fragile ego that’s maintained through the existence of his fabricated reality.

He hurt so many people, abandoned Azula to her own thoughts, because he couldn’t face his own emotions. His own weakness.

 _Sokka wouldn't be happy to hear you say that,_ echoes once more. He can’t tell. Can’t tell what’s good or bad.

He sighs, and plays around with his spoon.

“Yes?” He replies, absent-mindedly stirring the soup. 

“You don’t like the food?” The cook leers. Gen, he believes his name was. 

Zuko blinks, looking up. He’s sitting alone, since Uncle finished his meal and already headed upstairs to organise their routes, and Azula is still barricaded in her cabin.

He purses his lips, uncomfortable and tense, clenching his bowl. “No, it’s good,” he answers honestly. There’s something sentimental of homemade food. He enjoys it. No matter what it is. He’s just not good at eating. He hates eating. Always felt sick the moment he ate something, felt undeserving of his next meal. He begins to scoop some of the porridge to his mouth, and realizing the chef is still staring at him, he looks up, awkward.

He’s glaring.

Kind of.

Zuko can’t really tell.

And the old Zuko would’ve snapped, defensively bristled. And honestly, he wants to. It’s disconcerting. Rude, he’s pretty sure, for him to just watch him. “Do you need something?” He asks stiffly.

“No. Just surprised the prince would enjoy commoner food.”

Zuko frowns. “I enjoy any food that’s good.”

Silence.

This is the worst.

Zuko just made the tension strange, must’ve said something wrong- he always says the wrong things. He stabs the postato chunk, and eats it quietly, unsure what to do now.

And he can’t finish this. He can already tell. The way his gut curdles at the heat of the porridge, tightening the concept of finishing it (and the anxiety of knowing he won’t be able to finish it simply _worsens_ the cramp in his stomach), he attempts to swallow some more. 

“Thank you for the meal,” he finally says curtly out of habit, normal manners having been drilled into him by Aang whenever they visited restaurants or bought things from even ordinary market owners. Oblivious to the way the chef squints at him, indecisiveness molding his expression, Zuko stands up to take his leave, pretending like he’ll bring the rest of his meal to his room to finish when the reality is he’ll simply dump it out into sea during the middle of the night. The guilt stirring the acid bubbling in the back of his throat forces him to walk even faster. He hates wasting food, and he hates lying.

He grabs another spoon. He'll just sneak this to Azula, pretending like he didn't eat one or two bites out of it.

* * *

“He’s a lot different from what I thought.” Chef Gen admits gruffly.

“He’s still a brat, though. He looks so defensive. Like he hates us.” Enzie confides bitterly, gnashing the fish bones into paste so she can swallow it easily. She thinks back to when they first met.

Kind of.

He appeared almost shy when they made eye contact, not necessarily dismissive. 

But then his sister opened her mouth, and she knew that two people who grew up in the same family aren’t that different. Their morals and beliefs are raised the same- and she’s heard rumours about the First Prince. Therefore there's no way the boy isn't morally bankrupt as well.

“Looks so young. How does a ten-year-old get banished?” Murmurs Zheng, and she snorts. He’s a softie for children, in spite of his appearance. 

“Thirteen,” Lieutenant Jee corrects. “He’s. Small for his age,” he snickers. “He used to be a lot louder. He only got punished because he kept on pushing to attend a meeting, impatient and overstepped his abilities and boundaries,” he expounds.

Sounds about right. Then again, “I mean,” she begins, “I don’t doubt he’s a brat. But lots of children think that way. Banishment is major,” she confesses. Then pauses. “Then again, he’s a prince. He should’ve known better.” _But he’s a child?_

“You think banishment is major?” Gen snorts. “Considering his position as the prince, he must’ve learned more than a normal child. Really, he should’ve known the consequences of his actions. Besides, it’s not like the Fire Lord can let a disgrace represent his family, right?” He shrugs, appearing almost apologetic yet insouciant.

“I mean. He’s not that bad, look at his sister,” Enzie sneers. She’s twisted. So young, and she has such an attitude. And then there’s the fact that she had no qualms for hurting others. The way she lashed out at Han for not properly remaining on lookout, and attempted to burn him if not for her uncle’s intervention- it was.

Unsettling. Their nation prides the strong, but not the cruel. 

“That bitch really wasn’t just all talk,” she murmurs.

Zheng turns to her, looking as if she said something scandalous. “She’s still young. Give her some time.” 

“She kept nipping about our social class, I don’t like her,” Gen remarks bitterly.

“You don’t like a lot of things,” Enzie corrects. Though, she doesn’t blame him. She doesn’t like the Princess either. “But why is she here? Is she banished too?” She grunts, shovelling more rice into her mouth despite Gen's scowl.

“I don’t believe so,” Lieutenant Jee informs, hesitant. “It was just the boy. I don’t know why Princess is here with us, too.”

“Isn’t this like. Treacherous? What we’re saying?” Shudders Han, fumbling with his knots. And Enzie feels somewhat bad for him. He’s young- early twenties, and a looker.

Now he’s probably stuck here on some dysfunctional ship being bullied around by pretentious royalty for the remainder of his young adulthood.

“Agni, if I knew that we had to deal with royalty I would’ve never accepted Iroh’s request- I thought he said we would just be crewmates for his nephew and niece- I didn’t know he meant, you know-”

“Psychopaths?” Enzie sighs. Han knots his lips at this. “God. Me too, Iroh approached me in a tea shop, and offered me a job. How is he even connected with this entire fiasco?” She groans. She’s been scammed.

“You mean the Dragon of the West?” Lieutenant Jee begins, confused.

“What? Isn’t that the great warrior?” Han blinks.

“Yeah. That’s. That’s Iroh,” he begins slowly. “The Fire Lord’s brother.”

They stare at him.

And Enzie sits up, jerking her legs from where she propped them up against the table. “Mother _fucker_ -” and kicks her chair down. Scammed.

She got fucking _scammed._

* * *

Zuko raps against the door. 

Not hearing a response, believing Azula’s asleep, he begins to slink away, when a rough voice replies: “what the hell do you want?”

“It’s me, Zuko,” he says, absent-mindedly thinking of how to stop his sister from cussing every five minutes. She's only eleven- swearing can't be good for her.

“Go away.”

Reluctantly, he takes a step closer. And he _really_ doesn’t want to say “let’s sleep together”, he’s not a baby, not a child, and he feels too humiliated asking for something he knows Azula would automatically taunt him for. Would scorn him for. “I’m coming in,” he says instead, ignoring the anxiety that corrodes his willpower, melts his joints and muscles. 

“Zuzu-” and she sounds like she’s going to kill him, but she’s also not going to continue commanding for something only to have him utterly decimate her expectations, and he knows that, so he walks in, the darkness enveloping him. 

“I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“No you’re not. Zuzu, stop it. You think you’re someone special to me, that you’re in any way a good brother or-”

“I’m a coward and a crybaby, just like you say, so I can't sleep alone,” he says loudly in the darkness, his cheeks burning, as he sets his cold porridge on the bolted table next to her door. 

“You’re tricking me.”

“Nope, of course not.” And before she can properly beat his ass at the peak age of just eleven, he locates the bed in the darkness and shoves himself underneath the covers, in spite of her sudden hissed shrieks. 

“Zuzu! Stop it. You big baby, sleep _alone_ , I’ll actually burn you-”

“You burn me even when I’m _not_ doing anything,” he snorts, quickly detecting her presence by her incubating heat. And he’s gotten bolder. Stupider. Maybe, a bit more considerate. And Zuko senses how she’s genuinely pissed, that she sees him as disrespecting her because he's treating her as something tangible and worthy of him and she’s going to set this bed on fire before she resigns to anything he does- “anyways.” he says loudly. “I snuck some fireflakes into my cabin before we left. Let me sleep here, and I’ll hand you some.”

“Weak. Imagine having to bribe to get what you want.”

Zuko inwardly smiles at her relatively tame tone. “Some things are just worth the humiliation.”

And for the first time in his life (and probably hers, as well), Azula doesn’t try and get in the last word.

* * *

“What the fuck.”

“Language.” Zuko instinctively lashes, wincing at his sudden tone and the way Gen looks at him in disbelief. He flits his eyes over to Azula, who doesn’t appear to have heard their conversation, too busy building up her resume as an impulsive pyromaniac.

“Why are our sails on fire.” Enzie says; and it’s less of a question, and more of a demand with the undertone of consequential murder if she doesn’t get an answer in less than three seconds. 

"Training accident." Azula shrugs. "Zuzu, god, even though I'm a prodigy, why are you so bad at this?"

He stares at her, unimpressed. "If you wanted to stop with practice, we could've just said 'stop' instead of you creating a distraction." He says. Azula doesn't even appear distraught over being called out. She shrugs. 

"We need to dock," advises Zheng, staring as one of the sails collapses in on itself.

"It's literally only the second day," whispers Han, who looks very close to breaking down. 

"That's it." And Zuko watches nervously as Tuin, one of the scarier looking crew mates, suddenly lie down on his back. Zheng steps back as if it to respect his space.

"What is he doing?" Azula asks.

Zuko covers her eyes. "Don't look."

"Wait, are you dying?" Han suddenly asks, incredulity pitching his tone, if possible, sounding even more stressed than before. 

"Wait, he's _dying?_ I wanna see-" Azula tussles, attempting to rip his hand off her eyes.

"Stop it!" Han buckles onto his knee next to Tuin who closes his eyes. "We're so severely understaffed," he says. 

Tuin doesn't move.

"The sails are still on fire," Enzie adds lacklusterly, sounding mildly irritated over Tuin's untimely death.

"Tuin stop dying before we all actually do die on this ship," Lieutenant Jee orders. 

Zuko sighs.

And he was right since the beginning- this was definitely a punishment sent by Agni.

* * *

“I hate fish. Why do we just eat fish? We had fish yesterday, too."

“We’re literally in the sea."

This rather obvious statement in fact, does not, stop Princess Azula from removing all the fish from her bowl and onto Zuko’s platter. 

Zuko reminds himself that she's eleven, and all eleven-year-olds are picky and eat exclusively chicken strips and tomato paste.

He reels in a sigh, and accepts her fish. “You need protein,” he argues weakly.

“And you need height.” She levels her gaze with him, an impressive feat really, given their two-year height difference. “So what's your point?”

He once again, reminds himself that she is only eleven and he is mentally sixteen, and therefore should be the bigger person and _not_ fling her off the side of the boat right now. 

“Azula, eat at least some-”

“I hate fish.” She repeats. And Fire Nation doesn’t really eat fish. He hated it too in the beginning- hated most seafood. Meanwhile, the water tribe actually knew how to properly season and flavour seafood- resulting in him disgruntedly deciding maybe the sea wasn’t cranking out malfunctioning creatures, rather the fire nation just has absolutely no idea how the fuck to cook sea spawn. 

“Eat one strip, _then_ I’ll eat the rest,” he replies firmly, refusing to give into his sister. Not after he didn’t step down from getting struck by lightning by her. Though, her stubbornness is a rather formidable opponent on its own. “Aren't you a mature, big kid?” He deadpans, and he sees the way she looks ready to debone his neck the same way Gen prepared their fish.

“Zuzu, don’t test me.”

“I’m not, just making sure I was right.” He replies loftily, with the smuggest smug smuggity tone he could muster. Yeah, maybe he’s a sucky person. But literally, with his reborn mentality and Azula’s slightly more stable one, he’s finally able to talk back to her almost on equal grounds. Something his previous self would've been utterly incapable of doing no matter how much he wanted to, and something he’d never be able to do with his older Azula who’s-

Who’s just not capable in her own way, either.

Suddenly, Zuko is hyper aware by the silence surrounding them. They’re on a ship. With a crew of rowdy and unfaltering mates. And it's quiet.

He looks up from his bowl stacked with an unholy amount of fish.

He makes eye contact with the woman from earlier- Enzie, and he bristles so hard he nearly vibrates off the seat.

He ducks his head down quickly, staring at his food, and god they must be making a commotion and he hopes Gen doesn’t think his cooking is bad and he hopes Iroh comes back quick with his tea so this isn’t goddamn awkward because Zuko might’ve actually _finally_ built a foundation of social cues but he certainly isn’t on average good with them (and holy shit there’s no way he can eat all this fish)-

“Zuzu, you can’t finish that.”

“I- huh?”

“You never eat a lot. This is why Mai is taller than you,” she jabs patronizingly. Ouch. “Your stomach is weaker than your character.” _Ouch._ “Here.” And, to his surprise and vague fear that his sister’s character development is unnaturally progressive, she suddenly takes back a couple strips of fish. “God, you’re such a baby. Can’t believe I have to take care of you,” she grumbles, and then, takes a massive bite of her fish.

And Azula’s an amazing liar.

Yet he watches as her face simultaneously expresses all seven stages of grief within .08th of a second.

It's almost terrifying, how she’s somehow able to force herself to look normal after showing off the range of emotions she can surprisingly feel past anger and murderous anger. “See,” she takes a suspiciously long swig of water. “Grow up,” the rasp in her voice effectively erasing any intimidating coldness of her words. 

He smothers a laugh. “You’re right,” he says, almost fondly. “I hope to grow up like you.” 

* * *

“You saw that right?”

“Yeah, how she disrespected my fish?”

“I mean. That too but we all hate your fish-” Han waves it off impatiently. “How they’re kind of like….siblings.” He adds uneasily. “Like. I mean _obviously_ they’re cut from the same cloth but he’s. He really dotes on her.”

“Probably spoils her, no wonder she grew up thinking she can have everything,” Enzie grunts.

  
  


At that, Zuko slinks away from the closed kitchen door, still holding his empty plate and Azula's empty bowl that she finally finished. They don’t get it. They don’t get that she had _nothing_ because no one gave her anything to start with- she greedily grabbed everything she could through her own terms, her own spite.

And in the end she still couldn’t even get her mom’s last goodbye, or future Zuko’s sympathy.

* * *

Zuko, having a low threshold for affection and any emotion not within the umbrella term of 'homicidal rage', has absolutely zero immunity to the compliment Han gives him.

"I like your hair."

Zuko drops his swords, and they clatter loudly onto deck, and he whips around, and something more akin to the old Zuko's expression probably flickers across his face, because the young man takes a step back, appearing hesitant and regretful, as if he said something wrong.

"I- uh. _Why?"_

And if Zuko always had an inkling of suicidal ideation in the past, it's nothing in comparison to right now, because he's already drawing mental blueprints of cartwheeling off the edge of the ship and drowning.

_Holy shit. Zuko you absolute dumba-_

"Uh. I don't know. It looks cool." Han mumbles, looking like he hates this conversation, and Zuko feels something sinking in his chest.

Though, he does have to question Han's tastes, because finding something like his ponytail appealing- now that's on him. "Oh." Zuko blinks. And normally he'd just walk away right now.

But then he recalls how Katara always mirrors back a compliment whenever Suki offers one, or when Aang randomly outbursts with one. "You too." 

Han stares at him.

Zuko rewinds the sentence in his head, wondering if he said it wrong.

Then he rewinds a bit farther, and thinks about what Han said.

  
The realization decks him across the head and leaves him for dead. 

Oh _my god I'm actually going to tie myself to the anchor._

"What?" Han finally utters.

"I-" _abort abort abort_ "never mind!" He jerks harshly, and _yeah_ he's getting better with talking to people but that's with _normal_ conversations. Or with people like Toph. Whatever that means.

Not tea shop talk or light chats over the table.

He quickly gathers his swords, and glancing once more at the ginger who's left standing there awkwardly on deck, he quickly skitters away.

* * *

"That was awful."

"You saw that?"

Azula nods. 

Zuko takes comfort in the fact that Azula's communication skills are shot, as well. Not like he'd say that out loud. "Zuko, you should just never speak again," she suggests sagely, and he can't believe she sounds vaguely sympathetic for his suffering for once in his life.

"I plan to." He sighs, and rolls over on her bed.

* * *

"Come down to port with me!" 

And see, Zuko was currently facing his peaking midlife crisis at the age of thirteen but sixteen at the same time, over where to actually _go._ He doesn't have enough guts in him to chase down the Southern Water Tribe- especially now. Perhaps Aang is with them, but he's always wondered whether or not the Avatar was _actually_ discovered during this time, given that he hasn't heard about him until he actually reached there two years later. He always wanted to ask _where_ the Avatar even came from, but he never got the chance.

But he can't just _show up._ Especially with a Fire Nation ship, and especially not with Azula who still isn't the most well-adjusted to society where people apparently do not normalize randomized killing. 

He glances at Azula, who's impatiently waiting by her bedroom door. "We're in the earth kingdom, you know, the place that Uncle _failed_ to conquer," she rolls her eyes. "Uncle said he'd watch the ship. The rest of the crew is buying stuff. And extra sails." She sounds pretty proud with the last statement. "Let's go check out the stuff."

And older Azula would've never mentioned buying foreign goods. She would've refused to show interest in things she deemed inferior, or give any hint of attention towards anything past ambition and goals.

He smiles, and sets down his ink pen. "Yeah, okay," he snorts.

* * *

"I hate these. They're so strange," Azula gripes, and Zuko shrugs. Earth kingdom's fashion is actually rather comfortable. "And plain. Who wants to look like dirt?" She scoffs. "Oi, Zuzu-" he blinks, glancing down and sees her wandering off, and almost instinctively, he suddenly grabs her hand. She jerks, turning around, looking ready to crush his skull. _Ah._ Bad habit. He would always drag Toph around, even when at first he was adversed to the idea of touching anyone, especially her, who he burned before. 

But she was blind, and eventually, he grew used to carrying her on his back, having her grope for his hand, and link their arms wherever they go.

He swallows. He misses Toph. _Toph wouldn't even remember who I was or what we went through._

He fumbles slightly as Azula attempts to dislodge her hand from his grasp, interlocking their fingers stubbornly. "I'll get lost." He says solemnly.

She stares at him. "Get lost, then," she returns with equal seriousness. 

Reminding himself all eleven year olds are annoying and equally little shits and that if he's dealt with Toph's sarcasm he can definitely handle Azula (and if he's dealt with _Azula's_ authentic and one-of-a-kind first-degree murder vibes, he can definitely deal with her general teasing), and that he _shouldn't_ just let go of her hand and watch her get swept up and lost in the earth kingdom so he can ditch her to go on a global cruise. He just crushes her hand even tighter.

"Azula, you're going to abandon me, aren't you?"

"Zuzu," she deadpans, "you're literally disowned from our family. You were already abandoned."

But, she then continues walking to the stall that originally caught her attention, and he smiles as he realizes she's indulging in his request, hand not leaving his own.

* * *

Gen stares.

The girl stares back.

Gen has categorized these two in their own genre of evil, but, there's something inherently more terrifying in the younger one than her brother.

To the side, the young boy has apparently lashed out at Han, and though Han claims it wasn't in a mean way and just felt overall uncomfortable, Gen doesn't doubt the boy has his own limits of niceties. He clearly doesn't see them as equal, no matter what his behaviour suggests.

But then there's the girl. Who at least isn't a liar like her brother.

He narrows his eyes, and the girl flips him off.

He's being flipped off by a child the height of his kneecap.

He tells himself that it's best not to get on the bad side of the General of the West by wiping out his niece's g-track by replacing salt with rat poisoning.

"Where'd you get that?" He blinks, glancing at Tuin, their youngest member, around the age of sixteen, who's sucking on a candy of some sort. "What _is_ that?" He grimaces at the strange shape.

"Rock candy. The kids bought shit in the earth kingdom," he grunts. And Tuin has a questionable attitude. He's standoffish, lanky, and looks overall unfit for deck work despite his gruff exterior and vulgar mouth.

"Thought you hated children," Gen comments.

"I do," he replies simply, crunching on the candied stick in his mouth. "Some are more bearable than others," Tuin mouths around the stick. And out of everyone, Gen thought Tuin would be the first to lose it with the children- especially with the girl.

Guess not.

"For you," he suddenly says, yanking something out of his pocket. "Boy wanted you to have it," Tuin explains lacklusterly, and it's a wrapped stick. Rock candy. Gen blinks, setting down his ladle. "But I think he was nervous or sum. You look like you would cave his head in with a brick, after all," he shoves it into his hands, and slinks off.

Gen looks at the little lollipop that's the length of his hand, glittering and wrapped with even a bow on it.

He glances at the children again, the boy snarking off with the sister as usual.

Well. The boy ate his porridge. 

Might as well eat his candy in return.

**Author's Note:**

> me: realizing i cant reference modern internet culture,, f̷̱̮̈͛́͒̉̂͝ḙ̵̡̛̛͔̹̯̼͕̼̤͊̀́̓̈́͗͛̍̊͗̇̚͝r̸̪̥̯̺̞̭̮̒͑̀͊̈̊̾͋́̒̊̚͜a̶̬͕̞͙̿͐ľ̶̥͒̄̑͆̈́̄ĩ̵̧͉͈̲̲͙̏͋ͅͅẑ̶͎̝̟̩̉̎͘ę̶̢̫̘̬̑̅͗͒̔̄̿̉̌̇͠ș̷̨͙̳̜̦̭̰͚̅̈́̉̈́̃̑̿̑̊̋͌̋
> 
> anyways goodnightajlfsdkjsad  
> \--------  
> guys talk to me!! except im rlly slow at responding;jioodfjif sorry  
> \-- ig: @lukewarm_oj (i post low quality art every once in a while if ur interested ;)  
> \-- twitter: @strawbrained


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